Apprentice
by Sorida
Summary: Tyger Pax taught Bumblebee many things and took away even more. He was different, he was broken, but he could still help. Cross-posted on Ao3. Warning for self-harm and implied suicidal thoughts.


Standard training required every Autobot to learn basic medical fieldwork, patch jobs that could potentially save another. Bumblebee, for all his curiosity and eagerness to learn, was never the best at any task requiring fine motor skills. His large, blunt digits didn't lend themselves well for sealing main lines or removing and rerouting burnt-out circuitry. He barely passed the exam and suspected First Aid either passed him out of pity or with the firm belief that Bee would learn with time.

For a while, it didn't matter. Bumblebee was usually partnered up or put on a team. After the Kalis incident, Jazz (thankfully) hesitated to leave Bee on his own. He had solo missions, but they were fairly low stakes and never lasted more than a few solar cycles. All in all, he didn't need that particular skill on any mission. By the time he did, he didn't care enough to fix himself. Maybe he'd been hoping for something else to happen, anything to make the jeering stop.

And then Tyger Pax happened and everything changed, mostly for the worst.

He couldn't speak now. He lost more than half of his team. The one other surviving team member transferred bases and positions (because she hated him, didn't she? He got another Last Waver killed. He could've made another call, given the info and saved them all, but it was Megatron and Megatron could not know about the Allspark) and had left any memory of Bumblebee behind. The only good that came out of the ordeal was his somewhat restored social skills. Skittishness gone, he could now relax around other Autobots to an extent. He'd always put on a persona, hide the worst of himself away where nobody but a few select bots could find it, but he liked the persona. He wanted bots to like him and now that they did, he wasn't letting go of that affection any time soon.

Soon after being released from the medbay, Bumblebee found that he hated being alone. His processor would wander back to Kalis, back to Tyger Pax, and his thoughts would ask _why?_ Why was he so unlikeable? Why wasn't he better? What did he do wrong? How can he be better?

Somehow, that led to a sleepless night and a full analysis of every weakness he possessed. There wasn't much he could do about his weak, underdeveloped frame. He could adjust to the pain of carrying something well over his frame's capacity. His true self was barely tolerable, but his cheerful persona seemed to fix that (though he could never understand why some of the older bots seemed to adore him). He was a bit of a klutz off the field, but he never tripped over himself on the job. And being seem as marginally helpless made others less wary of him.

It was the third all-nighter when he decided to look at his old reports and found the abysmal fieldwork scores. This, he thought, was something to improve. But to improve, he would need to practice. Well, scouts all had small medkits for missions for quick repairs and Bumblebee just so happened to have that in his subspace. He also conveniently carried a small blade, another habit he'd picked up from Kalis. Immediately, his sleep-deprived processor decided that practice was the best thing to do in the middle of the night, alone, and with somewhat impaired judgment.

Without another thought, he removed the adjustable plate of his hydraulic and sliced a minor energon line. With his mouthguard down, all that came out was a strangled, airy gasp. No one would hear him. It took a while to sift through the training and he may have warped the tubing, but he managed to patch it after a breem of fumbling. It wasn't pretty and that time definitely wouldn't cut it in a life-or-death scenario, but he did it. For the first time in at least a joor, he recharged soundly.

It really felt like he'd accomplished something good, so he continued. He needed the practice. During the daytime hours, he became more sociable. He started saying yes to those social gatherings with Cliffjumper, to spars with Arcee and Bulkhead, and to simply enjoy time in the rec room with other soldiers. Everything was going well and others seemed relieved that he was starting to get back to his old self. Well, the persona that they knew. The only issue was the general discomfort festering under his hydraulic's plating, but it was easy to ignore and he took precautions to prevent viruses. It worked.

Habitually repairing himself became a routine, a motion that could calm him down in anxiety-inducing situations. It became a constant and he got good at doing it with one servo. Somewhere along the line, he began swapping which hydraulic he repaired. Both servos soon became careful, precise, and quick with repairs. The pain that came with a nicked energon line became familiar, if not welcomed. On particularly bad days, he'd damage some circuitry just to occupy himself with a more complex task. Nobody ever knew, not until after the Exodus.

Earth, Bumblebee found, was very different. There were so many different colors and lifeforms and weather patterns and personalities and entertainment...it was a little overwhelming at first. But he loved it all. This planet was so full of life, so vibrant, and it made taking that oath to protect it all the easier. Of course, the Decepticons had to follow and remind everyone that the war, though stagnant, was still going on.

He and Cliffjumper had been assigned to scout for energon. Unfortunately, the Decepticons found it first and the Autobots needed this deposit. So with simply a glance and a nod, they fought for the fuel.

The battle was short and the mine poorly guarded for its size. They got lucky. As the last Vehicon fell, Bumblebee and Cliffjumper could relax. Sort of.

"Bee, it's not a big deal," Cliffjumper reassured, trying to wave the scout off. "It doesn't even hurt that much!"

 _"Let me work,"_ Bee snipped back. With one servo, he began patching the lines in Cliff's shoulder. The red mech took a nasty shot. In the right place, it could've severed the joint and what if Ratchet couldn't reattach it? No, it was now on Bumblebee to save that arm-

"Seriously, it's ok. Arcee and Bulkhead are on their way and we'll be outta here real soon."

 _"I need less than a klik, please just let me do this for you."_

"Fine, but you're next," Cliffjumper finally conceded, staring at the younger bot's leg. The scout's thigh and hydraulic could use some work, but burn damage wasn't Cliffjumper's specialty. Only seconds after Bumblebee finished, Arcee and Bulkhead arrived to take them home.

As it turned out, both mechs had minor injuries. Cliffjumper left first with the instructions to take it easy for a few Earth days and not strain his shoulder joint. Ratchet made sure the team was out of audial range before turning to the scout.

"You did those field repairs." Bumblebee nodded, however unnecessary. "Did First Aid or Red Alert teach you or did you learn it outside of Iacon?"

For some reason, it felt like he was in trouble. But why would that be? He helped Cliffjumper, he didn't do anything wrong!

 _"No, I practiced."_ Ratchet shuttered his optics, obviously confused.

"You...practiced?" Already, the medic's mind was going to morbid places. Had the scout snuck into medbays and practiced on corpses?

 _"Yes?"_ Bee buzzed back, just as confused. Sliding forward on the medical berth, he removed the burnt hydraulic plating and showed Ratchet his energon lines. _"See? Up here's really rough because it was still kinda new, but now it barely looks like I nicked the line. I can do minor and major energon lines and nonessential circuitry damage."_

Ratchet's optics locked on the ridges of a once pristine energon line, dread growing in his spark. The longer he looked, the more his processor began to tag dates to the injuries. To his horror, he calculated the most recent to be less than a solar cycle old. "Bumblebee...why did you feel the need to do this?"

 _"I was never any good at fieldwork, should've probably failed it. So a while ago, I decided to get better at it and I did."_ He sounded more unsure of himself now. Ratchet still hadn't really looked at him, maybe he didn't understand. _"I wanted to improve, you know? After all my failures with Tyger Pax and Kalis, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something- learn something new."_

With a sigh, Ratchet placed a servo on the scout's shoulder and squeezed. "Tyger Pax was not a failure and nothing that happened in Kalis was your fault. They were cruel to you and I'm sorry for not getting you out sooner. You are growing into a kind, talented, caring mech, please do not forget that. But for the situation at hand, you perfected how you repair minor injuries a long time ago. Why are you still doing it?"

Bumblebee moved to answer, but paused. Why? He didn't need to anymore, didn't need to for a while. So...why? _"I don't know, I just...I really don't know."_

Kneeling so he was level with the scout, Ratchet gently grasped Bee's servos. "Maybe it relaxes you? Maybe it's become habit? It makes life a little bit easier to deal with, knowing there's something you're in control of?" The younger mech shrugged, unsure. "I saw the damage to your main line, but it doesn't look like you made a habit of that, thank Primus. Bumblebee, this is not healthy. I'm going to help you, but I need your cooperation and trust. You're getting into areas that you may not be able to repair, not because of shaky servos, but from lack of knowledge of our anatomy. Already, I can see the scarring on your lines. While you chose a minor line, those are more susceptible to break again without alerting your HUD. You wouldn't know anything until you came to me with low energon readings or for a routine scan. You could get sick, in body and in spark. We cannot afford to lose you, not like this."

 _"But don't I deserve that?"_ The question just burst out, as if Bee had no control over it. Something in him rebelled so much at what Ratchet had said. Maybe he knew it was bad, but...but he warranted that treatment. Those bots in Kalis were right, he knew that. _"I'm not good, I'm generally awful. I still talk back sometimes, even after fragging Megatron taught me not to. I still lie, I still mess up, and I don't have the discipline the others do. It doesn't hurt anymore. I can be useful. I...I want to make you all proud."_

Suddenly, he found Ratchet's arms around him. It was very, very rare for the medic to show any physical affection. The last time he had was directly after Tyger Pax, when the memory purges were so bad that they made Bumblebee physically sick. Through the purging and the crying and the fear, the medic held him close and whispered that litany of it's _going to be ok_ into his audials. It was the same now.

"I'm going to fix you," Ratchet mumbled, pulling away and stroking the yellow helm before him. "Nobody deserves to feel like this, do you understand? You are loved, you are compassionate, and you are an essential team member. And I'm going to make sure you believe it someday. I'm going to help you heal."

For the first time since before Tyger Pax, Bumblebee recharged soundly without his blade or medkit.


End file.
